Mundheim writes in the program notes that “Sea of Birds” is based on her mother’s experiences growing up in Latvia during World War II, at a time when the country was occupied by the German army, and invaded by the Russians. But rather than a strict recounting of history, she says, the show is about inheriting a sensibility in which the most tragic events were suffused with the beauty of the natural world. She writes that the text is limited because it’s not central to the show.

Fair enough.

But because Mundheim chooses to include words, that element ought to be complete, and there are times when she leaves narrative threads dangling. Adding one more piece of information – even if just a phrase, or a sentence -- might provide the sense of closure that audiences crave.

For instance, at one point, Mundheim’s family flees in advance of the Russian army, but her mother’s grandmother, who is old and infirm, is left behind. But the audience is never told what happens to the old woman. Was she killed by the invaders? Did she survive, but die during her family’s long exile? Or were they eventually reunited? Without an answer to that question, the audience is left feeling unsettled and irritated at the narrator for holding out on us.

The original score by James Sugg and Chad Kinsey is moody and evocative and very nearly provides the unifying thread that the audience seeks, but can’t do it unaided.

There also were times when the show, at a mere 45 minutes, seemed overstuffed. I think this is because Mundheim is so entranced by the vibrant visual world that she will go to great lengths to set up an elaborate effect.

For example, the narrator describes how her mother used to play with dolls beneath her bed. Two performers cart a wooden bed on stage, then carefully lower from the bed a miniature “set” consisting of a board covered with grassy hills, on which the dolls move around. Someone else builds a stone path leading from the edge of the Theatre Project stage to the wooden bed. It all takes about five minutes before the “scene” starts -- and the action is over in another two, at which point the performers slowly disassemble the entire contraption.

The problem isn’t that the bed and stones and dolls aren’t appealing. They are, but the pay-off isn’t spectacular enough to justify the prolonged set-up. The more time an audience spends watching a performer preparing to a magic trick, the higher are our expectations. After many long minutes of nothing much going on, the conjurer better pull an elephant, at the very least, out of his top hat.

But though “Sea of Birds” might not be perfect, it is brimming with wonder. This show might not be as seamless as theater pieces by other artists, but it nonetheless yields greater rewards than do many more conventional works.

Mundheim has a remarkable eye and the rare ability to catch her audience by surprise and set us back on our heels. In a profession filled with almost-theres and not-quites, she is the genuine deal, the real thing -- an artist who helps the rest of us see more than we have before.

-- Mary McCauley